God's Grace is, to me, the most radical, majestic Word found in the Bible.
I'm sure people experience it differently, but this was how it unfolded in my life. 

After a period of time where I felt separated from God due to my own choices, I was stripped of my defenses and the scaffolding of my false self- the one I presented to the world- fell away. Dissolved into tears.

Jesus revealed the truth to me about who I was as a sinner once I broke down, came to him and surrendered.  My past, my present and future, my mistakes, regrets and shame, my relationships, children, finances and health. I was in my car, parked, on a bleak winter day. 

This revelation was an undoing, a breaker that smashed into me and held me somersaulting under the water's depths as I was confronted with the fact that I wasn't just full of sin, but MY sin was truly death living inside of me, and I am no better than the very worst of humanity without Jesus. 

But the God who created us and knows everything does not leave us there. He holds on and lavishes us with the most profound, radical, unconditional love of his son Jesus. Just as we are.  Ugly, diseased, pathetic in the skin we are in, our past, our deepest regrets and shame splayed out before Him. Because he loves us. Beyond what we have done, beyond our past, beyond our bad choices and shattered lives. He loves you and he loves me.

His grace flows in and fills all of our wounds with healing, allowing us to rebuild ourselves bathed in his light and his love. We begin again with a deeper understanding into who God is as well as who we are, and He empowers us to move toward a life that He opens up in front of us- a life of fulfilling our purpose as his children - empowered by His grace- fueled by his love, passion and courage. 
​​

"My grandmother once gave me a tip: 
In difficult times, you move forward in small steps. 
Do what you have to do, but little by little. Don't think about the future, or what may happen tomorrow.
Wash the dishes.
Remove the dust. Write a letter.
Make the soup. 
You see? You are advancing step by step.
Take a step and stop. Rest a little, praise yourself. 
Take another step. Then another. 
You won't notice, but your steps will grow more and more. 
And the time will come when you can think about the future without tears.
  -from the f.b. page Midwives of the soul
​

I read this for the first time in 2020, in the midst of the pandemic shutdown, and it has stuck with me ever since.  I always think "just make the soup", and very often, I have quite literally made the soup.  A kind of meditative, nourishing ritual of the basics- vegetables, water, washing, chopping, slicing and cooking.
It reminds me of my grandmother and great grandmother, who got on with the business of their lives no matter what. These were Depression people, World War people, Pre-antibiotics people. They knew difficult unlike anything we know today.  There was hardship after hardship for many of that generation. Yet they were optimists. You hear it in their music, you witnessed it in their sense of humor, the dedication and care in what they did and how they conducted their lives. They were people of hope, of unabashed idealism. Think Norman Rockwell....They were a generation of faithful who persevered through difficulty because of a hope they had no business having. 
Except that they believed in a God that was bigger than their problems and found that through it all- the depression, the war, the losses- They may have lost everything and lived in utter poverty, but not in poverty of spirit. They may have fought and made sacrifices for the war, yet they maintained their gratitude and belief that theirs was a country worth fighting for.  And they knew their God. They were a praying people. A service-oriented people. They built up and participated in their churches because God was the one constant. The one who never left them, the one who gave them the peace that was beyond all understanding, no matter what came their way. It was simple. A simple way of living, a simple way of believing, a simple way of hoping.  And sometimes I think that the complexity that we are intermeshed with on a daily basis today has not improved our lot as human beings. 
 The older I get, the more I see the inherent value of the simple. The slower track.  Taking care of my space... the bed, the kitchen, the art studio.  Many people I know learned this wisdom long ago, but you see, I am inherently a mess.  Well, messy. Yeah, a hot mess. Always have been. I don't seem to be bothered by it much until it reaches an alarming level of chaos. 

So I'm learning that lesson, (not mastered yet) that by giving myself a sense of space and calm in my surroundings, by taking steps to clean up the small messes, I am better able to clean up the bigger ones.
And the people in my space, including myself.  When depression and/or anxiety used to hit me, I would let everything around me become chaotic.  My house, my upkeep, even my relationships.  Because I just didn't care. Maybe you can relate.  
When you don't care, you don't care. And the things that would normally come naturally, don't.
That is when the "grandmother wisdom" comes into play. It is all about making the conscious decision to go through the motions- mechanically, if necessary.  And by taking the small step of doing something for yourself, like taking a walk, saying a prayer, making your bed or making the soup; we find an anecdote to the hopelessness or despair we all feel at times.
These deceivingly small, simple actions don't fix anything necessarily, but they allow our souls the space they need to breathe in new ideas, new life, and new hope. Even new compassion for ourselves. And if you're reading this, God tells us that as long as we have breath, we have hope in Him, because he loves us.  Because he loves you. 
Don't forget it, my friend!
​                                 - Gretchen
​

Today is January 2nd, my birthday.  And today, my mind is on my mom and what I want to say to the universe about her. 

 On January 2nd, 1971, my mom's water broke at midnight and her doctor was 70 miles away . My parents had tried for 6 years to have a baby and were not going to let a little stretch of highway get between them and a safe delivery. My dad got stopped going waaay over the speed limit, but when the policeman saw the state of my mom in the passenger seat, he yelled and motioned to "GO ON!" and gave them a police assist.  I was born 15 hours later. My mom did those 15 hours of back labor, with no medication, because she didn't want to do anything that might affect her baby.  My mom.  I won the lottery that day. There is no love quite like a mama and her baby. Even when said mom and baby are 83 and 52. 

 My mom would never admit she is an artist but she is one of the most profound artists I know.   She thinks out of the box and has always done things her own. way- from covering her college apartment walls in floor to ceiling murals, to painting flip flops on her feet on campus because she liked to go barefoot, to playing songs on the piano by ear that my brother and I would dance to.  She always retained the memory of what it "felt like" to be a child in a world that was full of imagination- sometimes scary, sometimes exhilarating, and sometimes difficult to comprehend.   It's one of the reasons she was such a remarkable mom, a second mom to many of my brother's and my friends, fun loving Granny, and a wonderful teacher and counselor to hundreds of children. 

She got her Masters degree in 1963  and her plan was to go to Boulder, CO and build an A-frame with her cousin Pinky, who had a jeep and an A-frame blueprint.  She had some land picked out and applied for a teaching job. The secretary told her there were 80 applicants and 2 positions.  After waiting and not hearing anything, the summer passed, and she assumed she did not get the job and signed a contract for another school in Alamosa. The day after, Boulder called and offered her the job. 
I've always wished she had torn up that contract and taken the job in Boulder.  
She married my dad in 1965.  She thought he was intelligent, very mature, and had the Scandinavian good looks she liked.  They had nothing in common except for the psych classes they took together, and the desire for a family.  They went on a few dates and my dad asked her what she thought about marriage. She told him she thought she might someday. He responded that he meant with him!
Whatever strange alignment occured in the stars to bring these two together, I'm thankful they crossed paths. 
​

When I went into labor with my firstborn, I asked my mom to be my coach. I didn't want and epidural and I knew she had the experience to help me through it.  After a long night, kind of the delirious stage, I was thinking about all of the women who had given birth before modern medicine-  I was mumbling something about about the "poor women" who went before me with no idea if they would live or die during labor.  My doctor heard me and told me I needed to get the epidural because my time was running out to get one.  I replied that I didn't want one, and my mom was coaching me.  My mom, God bless her, said " Oh honey, I forgot how hard this is.  I think you should get the epidural......"   And I caved.  I should have known better, I suppose, knowing my mom would endure pain for me that she would never want me to experience.  That is the love of a mother. 

I saw my parents at the nursing home today. I told them seeing them was my very best birthday present. My mom has been declining the past 6 months and isn't sure of my name or who I am always, but when I get close enough to look into her eyes, she always says " I LOVE YOU!! " And both of us have a visceral reaction to the love we have known for 52 years.  Our souls recognize one another, even when memory evades.
Thank you, mom. For everything, for more than I could ever write in a lifetime. Forever and always. I love you .

 It's here again- ready or not! 
Grey winter days, elongated nights filled with twinkling lights, carols, and the world is filled once again with the enchantment of childlike imagination. 
My neighbor's package was mistakenly delivered to my door last night, so I put my boots on and walked into the dark across the street to their home.  Built up on a hill in 1925, I walked up the old stone steps, across their  well worn brick walkway, to their porch strung with happy Christmas lights.
As I gave them their package and made a little small talk, I was filled with gratefulness for the surprising light and love that comes as a gift in the wintertime. The feelings of wonderment and sparkling lights suspended in childhood memory seem like a gift from God, giving us a glimpse of the authenticity of his love for us.
  Even though our experience of Christmas today is well clothed in centuries of pagan tradition and the commercialism we can't escape, the perfect gift of God's son coming into a troubled world in need of saving is present deep in our hearts and the memories we hold onto through life.  Memories of loved ones, the unadulterated, all-consuming belief that only children can experience, the mystery and suspense of Christmas eve, the bright magic of Christmas morning. 
​ As I get older and the memories become more precious each passing year, I am filled with gratitude for it all.  My hope for us is that we can feel all of the love and wonder of childhood, and less of the artificial stress and pressure that seem to come with the holidays.  I hope we all can have the discernment to focus on what is truly important- in our lives. With Love and gratitude- God bless us every one!   Gretchen

This week I will be drawing a name from my subscriber list and the winner will get to choose from one of these 5 hand painted Christmas ornaments! Be sure you are signed up below to get your name in the drawing!

"Until we make the unconscious conscious, it will continue to dictate us and we will call it fate." -Jung

I started painting in high school and continued in college because it was only in my drawing and painting classes that I felt my anxiety and depression ease.  I made my decision to pursue the arts because of this.  I didn't realize I was making life decisions based on what was helping me cope at the time.  I just knew that I had an inner peace when I was in the arts building at K-State and Northern Colorado.  Drawing and painting always allowed me to transcend to a place of true peacefulness. 
 Although I wouldn't advise making decisions for life based on my formula in college, I am thankful that I pursued the arts. Painting has helped me through many phases of life; divorce, breast cancer, taking care of aging parents, and many other times I've experienced uncertainty, fear and anxiety.  Painting always comes to the rescue as I mix pigment with water and allow it to mingle on the paper.  It's that process, that meditation that is at the heart of why I do what I do.  It is at once exhilarating, cathartic, and calming.  Unlike anything else in this world. 
When we can put the unconscious out for the world to see, whether verbally or creatively, we allow the wounds inside to get air and stop festering.  We can start to heal those deeply hurt parts of ourselves - the ones that show up on the outside as depression, bad choices, anxiety, or addiction.  
All of us have a creativity that needs to be nurtured. Whether it's painting, writing, cooking, singing, playing the drums, gardening or refurbishing old cars.  We each have something that needs to come out in a way that only your unique spirit can shape it. 
Find that thing, make it a practice and start pursuing your soul's true purpose. 

Don't forget!!

You are one in a million!
You are here, now, and have a purpose.  No matter what has happened in the past. 
You matter and you are loved.
And you are not alone!

We all have them- the jagged things that take up space in our hearts and souls but are never taken out into the light.
The lie we tell ourselves that we are abnormal because we deal with the ugliness of dark secrets and nightmares and put on our smiling face to meet the world each day. 
But these monsters grow without light and air. They whisper to keep them quiet and safe, but instead use darkness to feed off of the soul. 
Whispers that you are not good enough, that you are not worthy to have a good life, you will never find the hope and happiness you want. They tell you that your sins and mistakes are too big to overcome and that you are a disappointment. They are a vast pool of darkness and death that begs to be drowned out by any means, just to survive another day. 
And drowning their voices out only works for a while.
Afterwards, in the disorienting reality of waking up, they are louder, waking nightmares now. 
These are the lies. Don't believe them.  

The truth is the light.  And if you can't manage much at first, if it is too painful to see, then just a pinhole, a shaft of light, will help. 
Concentrate with all of your might on that light - where you remember the beauty in your life. The blessings.  And your monsters will tell you that you have been passed over by blessings but don't believe them. They are liars. 
You have known love and been cared for by family, known good friends, laughter and carefree days. You have known the blessing of a child or two, receptacles of the purest love humans know. You have known cottonwood trees and fields of gold and blue skies with beautiful clouds floating by.  Childhood dreams and the blessings of a thousand days and nights of memories and love.
Let that small shaft of light begin to illuminate the gratitude that has been beaten to the back of your beautiful soul. 
Allow it.
It will not be rushed. 
One pinprick of light at a time. 
Breath in the light and gratitude deeply, 
Know the height and breadth and depth by which you are loved - by the one who created you and by all of those who stand by you and with you now and each day you are on earth.  Through the ugliness and the darkness and on the other side where there is light and hope. We will form a human chain for you.  You are not alone. You can come into the light and be loved. 
 

We got to take a day with our sketchbooks to one of our favorite places- Elsah, Il.  Located on the Mississippi, between Alton and Grafton, this little village sits much like it has for the past 150 years. It is nestled in the limestone bluffs, with original homes, the courthouse and jail, music hall and grocery.  It is never crowded, so it seems like a well-kept secret. Gary and I have been coming here since 2007k to paint and draw and it never disappoints.  
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Here's something you may not know about me- I don't do things the way most (normal) people do things.

And I have to tell you this to explain why I was lying on my back looking at a leaf as it hit me in the face Sunday morning, as I was having a conversation with God. 
What happened was this:  I like to take my mat out on my back deck and do my yoga when it's nice outside. And on this particular Sunday, I wanted to be near God in his creation rather than inside the church walls. 
​It was GORGEOUS - a breezy fall morning, everything veiled in gold, with blue sky and clouds dodging in and out of the tops of the trees.  So pretty, in fact, that I laid on my back after my exercises, all relaxed and soaking in the moment.  As I did, I began to say a prayer, a prayer of gratitude for the beauty all around me that was so joyful and full of life.  I thanked him for being there through everything and for letting me know in a million ways that he cared for me and knows my heart. 
And then, out of a clear blue sky, a single leaf pirouetted down out of the sky onto my nose.
It brought instant tears to my eyes. 
Having a conversation with God will do that. 
Cast all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. _Phillipians 4:6